In the great power ga, there are no good people.
And at this mont, the opening move in Daguge had already invigorated everyone.
Everyone witnessed how the seemingly invincible 1515 Ard was so easily defeated by Song Heping, surrendering in just four hours.
This shake-up rattled not only the military but also kept the intelligence units busy.
In the CIA Middle East Operations Center at Langley, the hall was brightly lit, with fragnts of information regarding the Battle of Daguk being frantically gathered and analyzed.
"SIR, we need to imdiately elevate the tactical assessnt and threat level of 'Ghost' (Song Heping's codena)."
A young analyst handed the report to the supervisor, his tone serious, "He not only achieved tactical surprise, but also mastered 'hybrid warfare' techniques. He transford a ragtag army into an efficient killing machine. His use of firepower—timing, density, accuracy—especially the final battlefield cleanup… was ruthless."
The supervisor, a seasoned agent with graying hair and hawk-like eyes, carefully examined the report, his gaze stopping on the satellite image analysis of the "purification zone" outside the city.
"A twenty to one casualty ratio… and it's a siege battle…"
He muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers on the table, "Find his weaknesses. No one is a perfect war machine. Was it our air support that made the difference? Or his personal abilities? Turn these into reports and inform the others, this is a great opportunity for analysis, we need a detailed profile and study on Song Heping, I must know all his strengths and weaknesses in case we need to 'handle' him in the future, know where to hit."
He glanced around the hall, "Elevate the monitoring and psychological analysis of Song Heping and his inner circle to the highest regional level. I want to know whom he ets, what orders he gives, and even… if he sighs when he's alone."
An invisible web quietly closed in on the storm center that just created a miracle.
While everyone was intently watching Song Heping, the main actor of the drama, Song Heping himself, was walking up the main street of Daguk, which had just finished its battle, under the escort of an elite guard team.
He found that what was under his feet wasn't a road, but a mixture of rubble, shell casings, and unknown blackish-gray debris.
With each step, he could feel how brutally this city had been battered.
The air was sticky, a strange sll rushed to his brain—the choking sll of gunpowder, the stench of blood, the scorched stench of burned things, and…
It vaguely slled like burnt at.
The sll was lodged in his nose and throat, impossible to get rid of.
There wasn't a single intact building on either side of the street. The walls and rubble were as if a monster had gnawed at them, with twisted steel bars jutting in twisted shapes.
The walls were riddled with bullet holes, and blackened from where RPGs had been detonated.
So vehicle fras were still smoking, with lted tires lying spread out on the ground like lumps of black excrent.
Occasionally, he could see bits and pieces—a child's broken shoe, a half-burned religious book, a cracked pot—reminding that people used to live here.
Song Heping's heart seed to be gripped tightly by sothing.
What does war an for civilians?
Aside from ruined hos and lost lives, it seems there's nothing else…
A group of Abu You Brigade militia were pushing and shoving a dozen captured 1515 prisoners who had just been dragged out of a half-collapsed building, erging from an alley.
These prisoners were in tattered clothes, covered in dust and blood, their faces a mix of fear and numbness, with a few exhibiting a dim spark of defiance.
The militian poked them with gun butts, cursing in their local language, the prisoners swayed as if soulless.
One had an injured leg, blood still seeping out, leaving a red trail on the ground.
Song Heping's gaze swept over the prisoners, without any expression on his face.
No joy from victory, and no pity to spare.
For him, losing ant this, losing everything, even life.
He didn't dwell on it, shifting his gaze to the casualty report tablet handed by the staff.
Killed: Forty-one. Wounded: One hundred thirty-three.
The numbers were cold.
He didn't even know who had died.
To the commander, this was just a set of numbers to calculate the situation and gain.
His fingers lightly grazed the string of nas on the tablet's casualty list, a movent so slight it was nearly imperceptible.
Silence lingered for about three seconds, a faint ripple flashed in his eyes, then there was nothing…
All emotions were suppressed.
Warfare is about accounting with human lives.
No room for compassion when leading troops, he understood it better than anyone.
But when he averted his gaze from the tablet and looked inside the street, another scene hit his eyes.
In corners of the remaining habitable walls, at basent entrances, groups of civilians, three to five at a ti, began peeking out like frightened mice.
They were all sallow and emaciated, their eyes filled with terror and bewildernt at barely having survived a calamity.
An old old woman, full of wrinkles, clutched a child who couldn't even cry, only gasping for breath silently, staring intently at the now-ruined ho.
By a nearby broken wall, a man without a leg, loosely bandaged with a dirty rag, still bleeding, wore a lifeless expression, his face ashen.
The repressed, intermittent cries ca from different directions, faintly pricking the deathly silence torn by gunfire and bombs.
Song Heping sighed quietly to himself.
Pity?
Yes.
He wasn't made of stone.
These civilians, what had they done to deserve this, rely the least valuable pieces in the grand chessboard.
Hos lost, families gone, uncertain futures ahead.
But he was more acutely aware of a cruel truth—in this land ravaged too long by extremism and warfare, short pain was better than prolonged suffering.
Under 1515 Ard's rule, the civilians of Daguk wouldn't fare any better.
This military operation brought destruction and death as its imdiate bloody price, but expelling 1515 was for a hopeful future.
"The price must be paid…"
He silently recited, as if trying to convince himself.
He couldn't afford to be soft-hearted.
Otherwise, it could cost more lives of his brothers and civilians.
He suddenly shoved the tablet back into the hands of the staff, his voice resuming its usual calmness: "Relay the order, leave a battalion for garrison duty, all other combat units to replenish ammunition and fuel within an hour, conduct simple equipnt checks. Severely wounded to be handed to the garrison battalion and dical teams, prioritize evacuation to the field hospital in Elbil."
He halted his steps, standing at a sowhat cleared crossroads, addressing several core commanders gathered around: "Daguk is just the first stone on our path southward. Titrick is the real hard nut we ultimately need to crack. Before reaching Titrick, Hulmatu—this is the most important northern barrier, we must take it down swiftly!"
He abruptly turned his gaze across each commander's face, "Assemble the entire army, target Hulmatu. We depart in an hour!"
The command issued, like throwing a red-hot piece of steel into water, sizzled as the entire force, just finished with battle and not yet caught their breath, sprang into action once again.
User Comments
0 comments from readers